In Christofides' Keeping (12 page)

But he’d just said curtly, ‘Come on, we’ll be late,’ and strode out of the room, making Gypsy want to slam and lock the door behind him.

Now she looked resolutely away from Rico, and tried not to let the fact that his powerful thigh was brushing against hers intermittently bother her. But she couldn’t pretend to herself that she wasn’t affected, and squirmed inwardly at the thought of Rico knowing.

Suddenly a hush descended on the room as a compère got up and signalled to the crowd. She heard Rico sigh deeply beside her and snuck a look. His face was expressionless, but his jaw was tight, and she knew in that instant that he too hated this. Reeling at that information, she watched dumbly as he got up with fluid athletic grace after being introduced, and walked to the podium with thunderous adoring applause resounding around the room.

Up until that point Gypsy hadn’t taken much notice of what the charity in question was, but now she recognised
it as one of her father’s own pet projects. One that he’d taken funds from. Her face burned with mortification at the realisation, and also at the weak fear that had led her to keep quiet about it when she’d been younger.

Rico was talking now, and Gypsy became quickly mesmerised by the simple articulacy of his words and his obvious genuine passion for the cause. A few people shifted uncomfortably around her; clearly they’d just expected him to get up and smile and say nothing of any consequence. But Rico was not going anywhere yet.

He knew his subject well. He was listing facts and figures that made her feel dizzy, and he was not afraid of mentioning the unpalatable stuff that people at an event like this preferred not to hear. To her knowledge he hadn’t even brought a piece of paper, but with simple eloquence he put it to the crowd to put their money where their mouths were and started an impromptu bidding session—the prize being a new car of the winner’s choice, from him. She could see exactly what he’d done; he’d embarrassed them into action, and now they couldn’t bid fast enough.

The woman to Gypsy’s left, who had been introduced as the co-ordinator of the charity, shook her head and smiled conspiratorially. ‘I don’t know where we’d be without him. He consistently shakes people out of their complacency and inertia. If only everyone could be as dedicated. There are far too many poseurs and charlatans standing in as concerned philanthropists.’

Gypsy swallowed painfully.

Finally he was finished—once an obscene amount of money had been bid. Everyone started to stand up and move about. Rico was coming back down to the table and, to Gypsy’s surprise, with singular intent he grabbed
her arm and said succinctly, ‘OK I’ve had enough. Let’s get out of here.’

Gypsy trailed after him, seeing the way people approached him but then stood back as if intimidated by his grimness. She almost felt sorry for them. ‘Don’t you want to stay? Talk to people?’

He glanced back at her. ‘Not unless they want to pay for my time and donate more money. Do
you
want to stay?’

Gypsy all but shuddered and shook her head eagerly. ‘No.’

A questioning gleam lit his eyes for a second, but then it was gone, and he led the way until they were back in the car and driving away. Rico was already opening his bow-tie with a grimace, and the top button of his shirt. Gypsy was transfixed by his hand, those long fingers…

Suddenly his hand stopped moving, and with a panicky feeling in her gut Gypsy met speculative grey ones. He quirked a small smile. ‘If you keep looking at me like that I’m going to do something about it. I meant what I said in London. I want you, and I intend to have you, Gypsy. On my bed, underneath me…’

Her face flaming now, Gypsy hissed, ‘Stop that right now.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s going to happen, Gypsy. We might not trust each other, or even like each other very much, but that’s beside the point. I won’t force you, though. You’ll admit you want me too before we sleep together. I’m prepared to wait…for now. But I’ll warn you I’m not a patient man.’

Gypsy tried to look away but couldn’t. She felt hot inside at his obvious intent, and extremely susceptible having witnessed Rico at that charity event—having seen
his clear distaste for the whole scene and his obvious determination to beat the cynics at their own game.

Right now she felt very confused, because the man she’d just seen working a jaded crowd to his advantage was someone she very possibly wanted to like her. Feeling very shaky inside, she mustered up a futile and rebellious, ‘Don’t hold your breath…’

T
HREE
days later they were sitting on Rico’s plane again, winging their way back to Europe—to Greece. Rico was immersed in work at the back of the plane, and Gypsy had Lola curled sleepily on her lap, exhausted after exciting days getting to know her new cousins. She was already worshipping the ground that Beatriz walked on, and doting on Luis as if he were her own brother.

Gypsy had met Rico’s mother—a small dark woman with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. It had been clear that no familial love existed between the brothers and her, despite Isobel’s valiant efforts to include her in everything. She hadn’t even looked all that surprised or overjoyed at being presented with a brand-new granddaughter.

But, more than that, Gypsy couldn’t get over how, in the space of the last three days, her impression of Rico had changed so much.

After witnessing his distaste at another society charity function the night after the first outing, she’d ascertained that, while he wanted to contribute something, he had as much cynicism for the monied elite as she did. Even more disconcerting had been his reaction to seeing her hair straightened again. He’d growled at her in the car.
‘I don’t want to see your hair like that again. In future leave it alone.’

His words had had a seismic effect on her after years of having it drummed into her by her father that she looked like an unkempt mess, not fit for polite society. Feeling more and more uncomfortable at clinging on to her prejudices, the following day Gypsy had asked Isobel if she could use the computer in the house study, and she had done what she should have done as soon as she’d found out she was pregnant. She’d run a Google search for Rico.

She’d read as much as she could, with a sinking heart and a sick feeling her belly. Far from her father’s assessment of Rico—which she realised now must have come out of petty jealousy—Rico Christofides was universally lauded as one of the cleanest entrepreneurs in the world. He played harshly and ruthlessly, yes, but always fairly.

Her father’s name was even mentioned in a couple of articles, citing instances when he’d tried—stupidly, by all accounts—to take over some of Rico’s interests. Rico had merely swatted him back like an inconsequential fly. No wonder her father had hated him so much; he hadn’t been able to beat him. And he’d been humiliated in the process.

Gypsy had even seen that while they’d been in London Rico had been involved in extremely delicate negotiations to save an electronics plant on the verge of collapse in northern England. If it had gone under it would have pushed an already economically challenged area over the edge. But Rico had managed to pull it back from the brink, and not only that but also to create more jobs in the process…

She’d felt even sicker, because those were the
negotiations
she’d taunted him about that day in the penthouse, when they’d been stuck inside thanks to the paparazzi.

She heard movement beside her, and looked over to see Rico take a seat on the other side of the cabin. Treacherous flames of desire and illicit excitement feathered through Gypsy’s veins. He put his head back now and closed his eyes. Gypsy felt a lurch in her chest at seeing faint dark circles under his eyes. And when she recalled how gently he’d held Luis the day before at the christening she felt something even scarier.

Suddenly his head snapped back down. Those eyes opened and looked straight at her. Heat flooded her face when she recalled how she’d woken only that morning to find Rico on one arm, staring at her with a wicked gleam in his eye, his broad and powerful chest bare.

She’d watched, instantly awake and breathless, as he’d taken the pillow from the centre of the bed and thrown it to the other side of the room. Suddenly filled with nebulous emotions, acutely aware of how much she’d misjudged him, she’d entreated huskily, ‘
No
, Rico,’ terrified he’d see her vulnerability.

But he’d just come closer and closed the gap between them. His skin had been hot and silky as he’d trapped her under one arm, bicep bulging. ‘
Yes
, Rico. I find that my patience is running very thin.’

Every nerve-point in Gypsy’s body had come alive, treacherously telling of her inability to deny this desire. His head had lowered and his mouth had slanted over hers, stifling anything else she might say. After a futile moment of trying not to react to his kiss, to his proximity, Gypsy’s mouth had opened and Rico had plundered ruthlessly, tongue stabbing deep, making Gypsy’s back arch.

Her hands had instinctively clung to his arms, fingers digging into hard muscle. Before she’d known how he did it, the buttons of her pyjama top were undone and he was spreading the sides apart to bare her breasts to his gaze. The hardening rosy tips had tingled as he’d brushed a hand over one, and then the other.

Gypsy’s breath had come fast and shallow, and when he’d lowered his head and mouth to suck one tip deep she’d all but bucked off the bed, so sensitised it had hurt.

Just as his hand had been travelling down to the waistband of her pants, a mewl had come from Lola in the other room.

They’d both stopped, waiting, and it had come again—stronger. Louder. She’d woken up. With a veritable turmoil of tangled emotions and frustrated desires in her belly Gypsy had pushed Rico away and got up, hastily buttoning her top again. Reluctantly she’d looked back to the bed, to see Rico lying there, arms behind his head, the sheet just managing to hide the extent of his arousal, chest broad and awe inspiring, gleaming dark olive with a smattering of masculine hair.

He’d smiled wickedly and drawled, ‘Next time we won’t have a convenient interruption. I can promise you that…’

Gypsy had fled.

Now, as Rico’s far too assessing eyes looked at her, she burned all over. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but she thought she’d caught him looking at her periodically over the last couple of days with a speculative gleam. He just arched a brow now, and asked laconically, ‘So, did you find anything interesting on the internet?’

All the heat that had just warmed Gypsy’s cheeks leached out. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he said easily. ‘Isobel told me you’d been on the internet, and it’s an easy thing to check the history. I think you possibly found out everything but my shoe size.’

No wonder he’d been looking at her; he
knew
she’d been snooping. The heat flooded back—and she hadn’t even found out anything about his personal life, his real father in Greece, or what had happened to him between the ages of sixteen and twenty, when he’d burst on the scene having become a dotcom millionaire overnight.

Gypsy’s arms tightened across the sleeping Lola, causing her to shift slightly. Stiffly she said, ‘I felt that perhaps I owed you the benefit of the doubt. I realised that I really didn’t have much basis for my…’ She faltered tellingly.

‘
Prejudice
I think is the word you’re looking for.’ And then he shocked her by saying, ‘Perhaps we’re both guilty of the same thing. After all…you’ve given me very little to go on…’

Gypsy quivered inwardly at the thought of one of his many minions checking her out. ‘There’s nothing much to tell.’

Rico turned to face her more. ‘And yet I find that’s really not the case at all. You’re quite the enigma. You patently didn’t come after me for the easiest gold-digging opportunity in history, but the ease with which you can navigate a high-end charity event tells me you know that world. And yet you were living in a hovel when I found you.’

For the first time Gypsy felt that perhaps she could tell Rico something of her life, but then that visceral fear surged up: despite what she knew about him now,
she still couldn’t trust him. It held her back. There was too much at stake. He might play fair in business, but would he play fair in personal matters—especially those concerning his own daughter? He’d said he wouldn’t ever forgive Gypsy for what she’d done. It was only now that she knew a little of his personal history that she could see how it might have shaped his need not to be seen rejecting his own child.

She reiterated stiffly, ‘There’s really nothing to tell.’

After locking eyes with her for a long moment, until Gypsy felt breathless, Rico said, ‘Why don’t you take Lola and get some sleep in the bedroom? I still have work to do.’

And, as much to escape as anything else, Gypsy took his suggestion and left.

A few hours after doing some brain-numbing work which had more to do with blocking out the erotic memory of kissing Gypsy that morning, and how hard it had been to let her walk away, than any actual need to work Rico stretched and stood up.

He prowled silently to the back of the plane to look in on Gypsy and Lola, and stopped just inside the doorway with an ominous tightening in his chest. Gypsy lay on her side, her hair in a stream of curls around her head, knees up and her hand protectively on Lola’s chest, cocooning her. Lola lay in complete abandon, legs and arms splayed. Gypsy had put pillows on Lola’s other side to prevent her rolling off the bed.

A fierce sense of possessiveness rose up within him, and it encompassed the two people on the bed—not just the little one. The constriction in his chest not easing one bit, he walked in and pulled a blanket first of all over
Gypsy, and then a smaller one over Lola. Neither one moved. He stood watching Gypsy and tried to battle the maelstrom of emotions she so effortlessly aroused.

He’d told her she was an enigma, and she was. Information on her background was starting to trickle through, and what he’d learnt so far had him reeling. He’d just given her a chance to tell him herself, but she hadn’t. And he wanted to know why she was so reluctant to tell him of her past.

It was becoming harder and harder for him to cling on to his sense of injustice that she’d kept Lola secret from him. It was also becoming harder for him to remember why he didn’t want to shackle her to him in marriage. The prospect, once so repugnant, now had a distinct appeal. He couldn’t lie to himself that he wasn’t a little envious of what Rafael and Isobel had together, and, while he didn’t imagine he’d ever experience that for himself, he certainly wasn’t averse to trying to create a home based around family…and mutual desire.

All Gypsy’s behaviour in the past few days had pointed to her sharing a very similar moral compass to Isobel’s, and he knew Isobel was not a woman who would choose to have a child and decide not to tell the father without good reason.

Gypsy’s presence by his side at the social functions had been a revelation. In the past he’d had to deal with sulks and moues of disappointment from mistresses or dates when he’d wanted to do his bit and then leave as soon as possible. But he’d got the distinct impression that Gypsy had as little time for those events as he did. She’d had no desire to ogle the A-list celebrities, or talk inanities with the sycophants who all wanted a slice of him—or more accurately his fortune. In the space of two nights he’d found himself instinctively seeking her
hand and relishing finding that she was right behind him without a murmur of dissent—if anything she’d shared his look of mild distaste.

And what was even more disconcerting was the ease with which he’d slipped into something that felt extremely domestic. Coming home to Lola each night, checking on her. Listening to Gypsy get up to soothe her if she woke during the night. Feeling the bed dip as she got back in and
aching
to just pull her close to him and make love to her until he could satisfy himself that what had happened between them had been a figment of his imagination.

He had a sinking feeling, as he watched her now and felt the familiar throb of desire, that it would prove to be anything but. He’d told her arrogantly that he’d wait for her to come to him, confident that she’d be mindless with desire for him, but he’d been the one to lose control that morning. Vulnerability clawed upwards again. He’d control this desire, wait until he knew more about the mother of his child. Make her
want
him as badly as he wanted her. Space. That was what he would have to impose—even if it killed him.

Lola squealed happily as Rico threw her in the air again, only to catch her in safe hands just before she touched the glittering azure water of the pool, which was half-indoors, half-outdoors. Rico had explained that this was the winter pool and was heated. Gypsy had seen another idyllic outdoor pool from the terrace where they’d had breakfast that morning.

‘Again!’ Lola screeched ecstatically, her favourite new word, which she’d picked up from Beatriz. Gypsy stifled a wry smile to see that Rico was fast discovering the
perils of an indefatigable toddler who’d just discovered an exciting game and the power of language.

Her heart clenched to see Lola so happy in this environment—especially when she thought of their less than salubrious home in London and felt the familiar guilt. There, Lola had been lucky to get a go on the one nonmangled swing in the bleak park. Here…Gypsy sighed as she looked around from the seat she sat on. Here was paradise.

They’d landed in Athens late last night and transferred straight onto a smaller plane, which had borne them across southern Greece to the island of Zakynthos. In the surprisingly cool night air Rico had ushered them into a Jeep and had driven them himself to his villa, which was near the private airfield.

Gypsy had been too exhausted to take much notice of their surroundings last night, and had been barely aware of the friendly housekeeper Rico had introduced as Agneta. But she
had
been disturbingly aware of a new coolness from Rico. Gone were the hot and intent looks, but she was determined not to let it bother her. Rico was undoubtedly trying to unsettle her again.

This morning, when she’d carried Lola down to breakfast, she’d been in awe at the beauty of the simple yet expansive villa unfolding around her. Everything was bright and airy, with huge glass windows showcasing the fabulous views of the Mediterranean.

Agneta had met them with a wide smile and led them to where Rico was reading a paper and eating breakfast on a shaded terrace. Gypsy had been surprised, once again, that he was there and hadn’t already left to go to work. She’d also been more than bemused to see a state-of-the-art highchair waiting for Lola, and she’d
noticed the discreet child-proofing that had been done throughout the villa.